Dear Random Married Couple at The Yard on Saturday,
I had my doubts about you when I first perched myself precariously on that barstool where my feet had no hope of touching the floor. Your inebriated voices were too much after my day in the Michigan Ave coatroom, in spite of a bubble bath, complete with candlelight and set to Mozart. But then you started feeding the little computerized jukebox on the wall with quarters and choosing songs by Journey, Taylor Swift, Keith Urban. My heart (and the bubbles floating in my Spaten) danced a little; God, I danced a little. And it totally rocked my Saturday night.
Love,
me
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